For Pan was dead
by BrooklynRed
Summary: Neverland needs a king and once it loses Peter it must find someone else to take the crown, but the duties of a Pan are more serious than once imagined. Can Peter return to save the day or is Neverland doomed to become a joyless abyss? Character Death
1. For Pan was dead

Hello everybody, and welcome to the first fanfic of (hopefully) a new era. I would just like too say that I don't own any of the right to Peter Pan or any of the characters within.

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"Pan is dead!" Hook yelled, sheathing his bloody sword, around him storm clouds boiled into the skies and the sea turned to ice, Neverland was mourning the death of its king.

Rain fell around him, heavy droplets that slowly diluted and spread the blood, blood that slowly spread across the dark oaken timbers where Wendy and the lost boys lay bound. There was utter silence. The world seemed to have stopped and even the sound of the rain seemed dulled, for Pan was dead killed by Hooks own long-sword.

The silence was dispelled with a great thunderclap, the herald of woe. Lightning streaked the skies and in their camp on the apex of the island the Indians look up from their smoke towards the ship outline in lightning. Hooks cruel smile grew longer still, mutating into a smirk of triumph as it stretched beneath that long nose. The pirates and the lost boys stared at the body, scarcely believing it was true. For Pan was dead.

Wendy's tears mixed with the rain and fell to the floor in great drips of sorrow. She could not believe it, for, though at times she had hated him, in her true heart she had liked him. Loved him even, though of that she was still unsure.

"It can't be," she whispered through clenched lips, as the lighting again pieced the sky like a dagger. "He can't be dead, he can't." Another tear trickled from his eye towards the timber.

As if in slow motion the Captain turned to face her, his hook circling his eye. He slowly walked towards her, long strides banging on the deck. He raised his hook and placed it under her chin, forcing her blue eyes to stare into his darkened pits. "He is." He whispered it slowly, savouring the very words and the pain that was in her eyes, "He is dead."

He whirled back to look at his crew, "He is dead," He whispered again, unused to such finality. Then he yelled it, "HE IS DEAD!" The crew cheered and yelled, while Smee tried to slip, unnoticed back onto the ship. "But a moments silence please to remember him, he died showing good form." Hook said, quieting them, a moment passed, maybe two and the ship was silent again, but for the creaking of the timbers and finally a slow, ominous tick.

Hook whirled again, drawing his sword, still stained with Peters blood, "The crocodile," he said, "This time he shall have Pan not me, he has come for me but will have Pan. Lift the body, boys"

The pirates rushed forwards, eager to do their masters will, pulling the bloodstained body over their shoulders and then throwing it over the side, the ticking stopped after the splash to be replaced by a far worse, more brutal sound.

Hook smiled again, "I think, boys, this deserves a celebration." The storm crackled again and the rain hammered down ever more ferociously as the Pirates cheered that proclamation, "However," Hook silenced them again, "That does leave one problem, what to do with these children? What do you think boys?"

They cheered again and various tortures where called out, from simple execution to roasting over burning hot coals and then the plank, Hook smiled, "You know that I think boys." He said slowly, "I think where rather out of powder monkeys and storytellers, that's what I think. Take the boys below and take her," he spat at Wendy, "To my cabin. Tie the boys down below, we shall deal with them in due course."

One by one they were carried below, hauled roughly down the steps to the gun decks before being tightly bound to the cannon with heavily tarred ropes. Wendy was carried into Hooks quarters and there set free with only her arms bound. Then the pirates broke out the rum, it was a merry night upon the Jolly Rodger, though the storm howled around them, for Pan was dead.

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Thanks for reading guys, as some of my older readers might have guess this is a re-write of an earlier unfinished fan fiction. While I thought that one had a lot of potental I also felt that it was poorly written and riddled with errors-besides, I wrote when i was twelve, so what do you expect?

Now a few little requests. First off, please, read and review. They really help with the process and provide me with encouragement to keep writing.

Secondly, beta reading. I am, as you may have guessed, a little dislexic and if anybody would like to volounteer as my beta that would be awsome. Thanks.

I love you all (especally if you've read this far :D) so thats a lot

BrooklynRed x


	2. Oh! The cleverness of me!

Here we go then boys and girls. chapter two. I'm sorry its so short but I'd hoping to get through a lot of short chapters to try and maintain momentum with this story, and to avoid losing inspiration. Thus I'm planning 14 or so short, 1000 word or so chapters to try and finish the story with an update today.

Thanks to those who reviewed and too ilovetoread38 in particular. You never know...if you wish upon a star you might just get it...

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Wendy lay upon Hooks bed sobbing furiously, scenes from the last hours playing over and over again in her mind. Peter fending off hooks sword. Peter being driven against the mast, disarmed and broken. Peter's last choked cough as the last breath left his body. The gaping wound in his stomach, the blood slowly diluting…

It was all too much, far too much for her to take. She knew that she had cared so much for Peter and he for her, despite all the evil, hateful things he sometimes did. And now he was dead, his remains being slowly digested by the crocodile and it was all her fault.

She looked out of the stain glass windows of Hook's room, imagining to herself that she could see Peters image in the stained glass, immortalised for all eternity. A sudden hope raised itself inside her and she scrambled to the window, staring out into the darkness for a glimpse of the magic boy.

She knew she was kidding herself though, that he was dead and he would come back for her. That they would never stand again in the fairies grove, that she would never again see the mermaids and he would never see Tiger Lilly again. What would happen to the Indians without their protector? What would happen to the boys, at the mercy of the pirates?

The rain still drove itself furiously at the panels, sounding like a hundred people tapping at the window, while behind her the door swung itself open and shut with the wind. Wendy threw herself back to Hook's bed and buried her head in his satin pillow.

"Why are you crying Wendy?" A voice asked from above her and she sobbed again for her mind was playing tricks on her. IT had sounded just like Peter's voice, the same boyish tone and slightly cocky glint. It couldn't be true. He was dead.

"Have I made you cross again, Wendy?" The voice asked once more, and this time it was so clear and distinct that she was sure it couldn't be her mind. She quickly rolled over the bed, hear heart beating ten to the dozen and looked upwards to see Peter lying against the roof as though nothing had happened to him.

When I say lying, of course I mean he was in a lying down position, as though the ceiling was his mattress. His hands where behind his head and he bobbed slowly, his leaf clad back banging against the roof. He looked at her as though this was a perfectly normal state to be in, as though resurrection was a everyday event. She looked at him, into his eyes her mouth forming a little O of shock.

"You're dead." She said simply, but he was perfectly fine, a little wet perhaps but otherwise fine. She looked to the side of the bed where little wet footprints led to her bedside before stopping and then looked back at him.

He looked reproachful, "I'm not."

"But Hook, killed you, he stabbed you in the chest with his sword, you died, they threw you to the crocodile!" This all came out in one horrible, confused burst. Peter looked puzzled, his eyes glazing over as he tried to remember.

"They did, didn't they." He said, after some time, as though it was the most normal thing in the world. "So?" he floated down to lie next to her.

"So you're dead, they killed you!" She was whispering now, barley able to believe her luck. "How can you be here now if you bodies in the mouth of a crocodile?

He gave her one of his little infuriating smiles that he so often gave and winked, "oh, the cleverness of me." He said, and on that note the door opened and Hook strolled in.

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And thats chapter two written, I hope you enjoy it. Oh, and the usual requests for reviews (I will respond...honest...)


	3. A thimble

Dedictated to Ilovetoread38 and kidsinlotsoftrouble (think I got your name right, if not I will amend when I check.)

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Hook strode into the room with the air of a man certain that victory had come at last. He smiled at Wendy before walking close towards her, rum stained breath assaulting her cheek. From his hiding spot underneath the bed Peter drew out his sword and readied himself for the assault.

"My men," Hooks breath reeked of alcohol and spirits, "Desire a story." He leaned his face closer to Wendy's and smiled at her as she backed away up the bed, "If they do not get a story soon they may want other pleasures and I don't know if I can restrain them." He pulled himself closer, "I don't know if I can restrain myself." He didn't have to say what those 'other' pleasures where, they both knew the grim reality of Wendy's situation. Lying underneath the mattress Peter didn't have a clue.

"I'll give you five minutes, my dear Wendy," Hook said slowly and turned to leave, sending one last acidic remark behind him, "and then I'll come for you." However Peter had now had enough of Hook and he flew to his feet, landing just centimetres behind Hooks spine.

"A curse on you Hook!" He yelled and went into a fighter's stance but Hook didn't even turn, he only looked over his shoulder in bemusement when Wendy cheered but that was his only response to such blatant provocation. Instead he just carried on walking towards the door.

"Coward!" Peter yelled again trying to incite Hooks rage, Wendy cringed knowing that Hooks dubious sense of honour wouldn't let him stand such an insult. But the Long-sword stayed in its sheaf, Hook did not whirl and indeed he acted as though Peter did not exist.

"Very well!" Peter cried and stabbed forward with his sword, the blade entering at Hooks midriff and it's tip coming out at the other side. There was no blood, no scream of pain only the ominous sound of boots clicking as Hook turned to look at Wendy, his gaze drifting straight through Peter.

"Did you throw something at me, Mrs Darling," he asked, reasonable and cultured to the last.

Wendy looked dumbfounded, "No," she stammered, still in shock at both Peters return and the pact that Hook wasn't yet dead. She was sure she had seen the sword enter just below the ribcage, and yet there was no visible damage.

"Strange," Hook mused, "I could have sworn I felt a pin prick on my back. I thought I heard a voice as well, must be the drink." He opened the cabin door and left, the sounds of drunken singing reverberating through the door.

Peter turned to Wendy, sorrow written all over his innocent features. "What has happened to me Wendy? He should be dead, but he didn't even notice me. It's as though I don't exist." He looked at her sadly, with the sort of expression that he would never have shown before. Something had changed about Peter Pan, something was different in those brown eyes. The cockiness was gone, the casual confidence and laughter had vanished. He was a shadow of his former self, and behind him that famous shadow mourned with him, it's head clutched in see-through arms.

"I don't know Peter, I really don't, your real aren't you?" A thought struck her, "Aren't you?" She now knew what she had to do. Since childhood she had been beguiled with a thousand and one ghost stories and she knew one certain thing about ghosts. They weren't solid. That was one certainty she could cling too and test right now.

"Peter, come here." She told him, as though commanding a small child. Peter hung back, flying close to the ceiling where she couldn't reach him.

"Why?"

"I want to give you a kiss." She said it simply and that helped the lie, but Peter wasn't to be fooled as easily as that.

"You've already given me one, and you don't have another." He looked at her cunningly as though he knew what she had in mind and at that moment she realised finally that she loved him. It didn't matter to her that he was so annoying, that he was so innocent and that he would see through her lies. She loved him, and that was an emotion that she would hold until her dying day.

"I want to give you a thimble, Peter." She said that truthfully, and he slowly drifted down from the ceiling towards her. He had almost childlike innocence in his eyes, but Wendy could see a change. There was something more in those eyes; desire, lust even. This child was growing up.

He reached the bedside and sat cross-legged next to her, "What's a thimble Wendy?" He asked.

"This." She said it passionately and confidently, despite having never done anything like this before. She lent over to kiss him on the cheek, but somehow he shifted and her peck caught her lips instead. From the moment he touched her lips she knew one thing for sure-he wasn't a ghost.

He shot upwards and smashed himself onto the roof, shaking the ceiling with a great thump. Above the music and the dancing stopped as the pirates tried to work out just what was happening below. The sound of running footsteps began to echo round the ship.

Meanwhile Peter was hovering on the ceiling, staying as far out of Wendy's reach as possible. "You're trying to turn me into a man," he screeched at her, "You're trying to make me grow up!"

"Peter, please…"

"You're one of them, you want me to grow up! I'll never grow up, never ever, not even if you take me into London and..." He shot out of the cabins windows-shattering through the glass as though it was little more than tissue, at the same moment as Hook smashed through the doors roaring his anger.

"Peter, come back!" Wendy yelled, racing to the window.

Behind her Hook stared, "He's alive!" He said incredulously, rushing to the window with her. In the distance he thought his eyes could see a distant gleaming speck, disappearing behind the mountain in the centre of Neverland. He shook his head and it was gone, there was nothing more than darkness outside the ship.

It was nothing but his imagination he told himself, as he took a second glance at the darkness. He couldn't go mad now, that would be very poor form, and if there was anything that Hook was afraid of it was poor form. He dismissed the vision of Pan from his mind and turned to wendy.

"Time," he said to Wendy, "For you to tell us a story."

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Right guys, I hope you enjoyed that chapter. I have good news and bad news, the good news is that chapter 4 (provisionally titled 'The Story of James Stuart', I'll let you glean from that what you will.) is nearly ready, I just need to proof read it. Hopefully it'll be ready by tomorrow.

The bad news is that after this I'm writing from scratch, rather than working on old ideas so chapters may take 2 days or so.

Thanks for the reviews...and the 40 readers who havn't reviewed...whats keeping you?

BrooklynRed x


	4. The Story of James Stewart

Hey guys, I really, really want too apologise. The end of the last chapter was an unedited, unfinished version of what was meant to be Chapter 4. I've removed it as quickly as possible, but I know some of you guys (TheDoctorsTiger, Ilovetoread38) did see it. I'd like to point out that it was totally unfinished, indeed, it was unchanged from the state that I first produced it back in 2005 (so now you know how I wrote when I was 14).

So anyways, my apologies, and heres a finished, edited and rewritten version. Enjoy, and again my apologies.

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Hook roughly hauled Wendy out of the cabin onto the main deck, where the pirates waited. Most where red-cheeked from the rum and they slurred their cheer as she was brought before them. They surrounded her as she was dragged towards the bridge, grabbing at her clothes and making lewd comments.

"Wendy!" Hook announced, "Or should I say Red Handed Jill." This brought laughter from the already overexcited pirates. Hook silenced them with a wave of his claw and then continued, "Will now tell us a story." Another cheer, "Now settle down lads and let us hear what the maid has to offer."

He pushed her forward towards a barrel that sat on the pinnacle of the stairs. Suddenly he started and turned a rush of wind from behind him, drawing his long sword and pointing it at thin air. He could have sworn he could hear the sound of crowing, "Where are you!" he demanded, scaring his pirates with sudden anger, "Where are you?" He whirled once more, but there was nothing there but the wind and Smee, who genteelly patted his captain on the arm.

"There nothing there captain." He said, his scotch accent being swept away by the suddenly rising wind, "he's dead captain, dead and gone."

Hook nodded at him and took a moment to calm himself down. Just the wind. Just the wind and one of the Indians damn Cocks. He made a mental note to kill every last one of the damn birds when he finally got round to eliminating the tribe. He turned back towards Wendy, whipping a suddenly sweating forehead with a handkerchief. "Now begin miss."

Peter had flown behind Hook on his way back to the ship and was now crouched in the crow's nest. From here he had a full view of the entire ship and he prepared to listen to Wendy's story. He could rescue her and the Lost Boys later, first he would listen to what she had to say. He felt ashamed, even embarrassed, for running away from her and realised that what she seemed to want...well, he wanted it too.

Meanwhile Wendy was telling her story. "There once," She said keenly, "Was a little boy called James Stuart." Behind her she could hear a sharp intake of breath. Hook knew what was coming next, what story Wendy was going to tell but he chose not to interfere. "This little boy was born into a family that wanted to become the Kings of England."

Behind her Hook hissed, "And they should have been kings, girl, they should have been." Wendy only smiled at this, and proceeded onwards.

"But little James Stuart didn't become king…" And then she told the story of James Stuart, who had run away to become a pirate after his father was defeated, and how he had one day sailed off the edge of the world and found Neverland. She told of how he lost his hand to a Tiger and she told of his epic battles with Peter Pan. She took the story further, saying how James Hook had killed his nemesis and then told of how Pan had not really died and how he would come back to finish off Hook for the last time.

Hooks anger grew with every accurate word and up in the crow's nest Peter admiration and love grew likewise. Yet neither could bring themselves to end the story while it still continued, the words weaving magic patterns in the air and within the heads of the listeners. Wendy continued through the Pirates heckles, until they were silenced, and throughout Hooks faith in Peters survival grew. He believed.

Up in the crows nest Peter knew what he must do. He was aging, his hair growing in length and his size gradually increasing. He knew he could become just what Wendy wanted, but he also knew that he didn't have long left as a child and soon the magic would wear off. He knew what he must do, how he could save the day for the last time and waited until Wendy finally finished her story.

"And James Stewart, who called himself Hook, finally died for the last time." Wendy finished, and int hat moment the spell of tranquillity that had pervaded over Neverland ended. The golden sunset broke and Hook started forward, intending to take Wendy below decks. Not to kill her, no, that would be poor form but to lock her away where such truths could never again be uttered. The he heard it, a crow from high above and he looked the heavens. Peter launched himself from the crows nest, flying down, quicker than he had ever gone. "WENDY!" He yelled and Wendy looked up and laughed.

Hook was drawing out his long sword and was stumbling backwards, his high boots slipping on the bridges wet surface. He couldn't believe what he could see, "Not you!" He yelled, "Your dead!" He slipped onto his back and then pushed himself backwards on his hands and knees, longsword held up like a crucifix.

The pirates merely laughed, for they could not see Pan falling like a banshee from the crows nest nor hear his cry. They could only see Wendy laughing with her hands in the air and there Captain stumbling away from some unknown menace. To them Pan was dead.

Peter reached Wendy and grabbed her by the arms, lifting her into the air, "I won't leave you again, Wendy Darling." He said it simply, his voice deep in his throat. Hook tried to raise himself up from the deck, his face white with terror. If he was going to die, he would do it as a man, on his feet. "Your dead," he gasped, "You can't be alive, you can't be."

Peter flashed his grin and spoke softly which gave his voice more menace than before, "Oh, but I am Mister Hook, oh I am." Then, with Wendy in his arms he flew off into the sun, back towards Neverland.

The pirates where sitting in awe now, a few of them believing that they could see the outline of a boy clutching at Wendy but most could not. All they had seen was there master shouting at the thin air while his prize captive flew away. The advanced slowly onto the bridge, swords drawn.

"You all right Cap'in," one asked, and Hook stared at him.

"You didn't see, Him?" He asked nervously.

"No Cap'in." Smee chipped in, "There was nothing."

Hook pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his brow, his hand shaking like a leaf in the autumn breeze. "Just a dream," he told himself, "Just a dream."

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And there we go, perhaps you can see the changes... but there you go. Again my apologies, and I'm working on double quick speed now to get a promised 5th chapter up by tomorrow. More shall be revealed about young James later, but first I have a few little suprises to spring.

Much Love and apologies;

BrooklynRedx


	5. Starlight, starbright!

Right guys, as promised heres chapter 5. Thanks for all the reviews! (please keep reviewing though :D)

Bit of angst in this chapter, but nothing terrible.

Ilovetoread38, don't worry about it lad. I'm very critical of my own work TBH and everyones style and abilitys change as they go on. From what i've read of your stuff its very good for a 13 year old. Good structure and you have a strong sense of plot which is always a plus. Could work on your syntax a bit, but that generally comes with age and experience at writing. Certainly better than my stuff at that point.

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Peter and Wendy flew high, as high as they'd ever flown before, linking arms and swirling together like two swallows in summer. Peter led, taking them to the point where they where among the stars and out beyond the very hemisphere of the earth.

Below them sat Neverland, its five pointed shape laid out beneath them like a map. They could see the Jolly Roger as a tiny speck below, the Indian camp smoking silently to the north while Mermaids relaxed in the lagoon to the east. The sea stretched out for miles around, before it disappeared into the fog that coated the rest of the scene.

Wendy twisted in the air and turned to Peter, her eyes gleaming and shining under the nearby sun. "Peter!" she exclaimed, "It's beautiful."

He smiled back, a wan smile though with less of his accustomed warmth and cheer, then he flew higher still, leaving Wendy in his wake to follow as best she could. He passed the sun, the planets even and then, at the very apex of his flight he leant his head back and gave one last final crow tinged with sorrow and delight about what he was going to do.

When she finally caught up he was relaxing on a star, his back sloping perfectly down the stars crest, as snug as the most well designed chair. He seemed to be talking, his lips moving rapidly but producing no sound, while the star merely bobbed in response. He looked up at Wendy as she caught up with him and smiled once more.

"Peter," She protested, "You shouldn't fly so far, I almost lost you."

"But you didn't," He responded, "And where would be the fun in not flying so far." The old cheekiness had returned now, but Wendy could see how he was changing. He was older. One could tell, though the changes where tiny, the first flecks of silvery stubble where appearing on his chin and he had grown. He was not much older, perhaps he had aged 2 years or so but it was enough to be noticeable. He was no longer a ten year old child, but one who was beginning to emerge from that innocence and enter his teens.

Wendy looked around, glancing about for Neverland and the way back, but all she could see where stars and eternal darkness. She shivered in her nightgown, though it was perfectly warm, and looked again at Peter. "Peter we should go back."

He nodded and rose from his seat. "Follow me, First turn to the left and straight on till midnight." With that he shot off, leaving her trailing behind desperately trying follow him.

They flew for what seemed like hours in a Childs mind, but could have been minutes in reality. Every so often Peter would stop upon a star and whisper more instructions before Wendy arrive, and then lead off, leaving her behind once more. Few words where shared.

Finally they plunged into a deep fog, and Peter had to return to grasp Wendy's hand in order for her not to lose him. They plunged on for more hours, unable to see each other or there own bodies, yet Peter navigated strongly and truly. Finally something loomed from amid the vile mist, and Peter promptly stopped to land on it, the two of them balancing precariously on tiles.

Slowly the scene revealed itself as the fog lifted, houses and street emerging from the mist. It was a grand city of churches and towers, stretching deep into the distance where great industrial fires lit the night's sky. And there, balanced on the edge of a cobbled street stood a small terraced house with a dog barking deep into the night. Wendy turned to Peter and exclaimed, "Why Peter! This is London."

He nodded sadly at her and drifted slowly down towards the open window of number 14, hauling a reluctant Wendy with him. Nanas barking intensified as they drifted into the room itself, ducking slightly as they were not as short as they once were.

_Beneath their feet, Mr Darling awoke from his slumber in the kennel at Nanas frantic barking and glanced upwards to see two figures silhouetted in the window. Pulling on his dressing gown and slipped he runs for the door and fumbles with the key._

"Peter, surely you're not leaving me here?" Wendy asks as they venture further in. She looks quickly around the room, at the oh so familiar beds and toys that she almost forgot they owned. Her memory has been eroded this past year in Neverland and now it floods back, like a tide that has burst through a dam.

_Mr Darling gets the door open to the kitchen and sprints across it, Nanny in his wake. Eliza, the serving girl, emerges from her room in the cellar to join the general excitement as he pushes through the door that leads to the atrium._

Peter nods solemnly, his face a picture of contorted pain. "Yes." He whispers slowly and then silences her protests by quickly grabbing at her hands. "I must Wendy Darling, it's too dangerous for you in Neverland and you're needed here, you must grow up here." These words, this acceptance of aging unthinkable just days ago, and a new, fresh pain is written across Peters face. Finally, he understands.

_Mrs Darling and Aunt emerge from the drawing room and join the charge upstairs, headed by Mr Darling himself. Nana takes over the lead as they round the first corner, bounding up the second flight of stairs. Two to go._

Wendy protests, stepping forward once more, "But Peter, I want to grow up with you."

_The third floor is finally defeated, and Nana is half-way up the fourth._

Peter shakes his head once more, and then tilts it slightly, listening to the commotion below. "No Wendy. I cannot, I can't grow up Wendy Darling, for if I did then Neverland would be no more and the dead children would have no guide."

_Nana reached the fourth floor, but slides as she tries to round the corner. The nursery is straight ahead, and she hits the door with a great thump. Locked._

Wendy turns swiftly towards the door as she hears Nana hit it but then turns straight back to Peter. Once more she attempts to protest and he overrides, gathering her up in his arms like a doll. She drips him tighter, refusing to ever let him go. "Peter, do you have too?"

_Mr Darling reaches the key, and fumbles with the door lock._

"Wendy." Peter says slowly, cupping her face with his hands, "Neverland needs a Pan." Finally the door burst behind them and the cohort rush in, falling over themselves in their haste to get to Wendy. Peter places one last kiss on those sacred lips and then he's gone, a single speck in the night.

They envelop Wendy at once, a whirlwind of kisses, hugs and slobber. Even Eliza, the maid with no imagination, joins in, giving Wendy a great kiss of the centre of her forehead. "Wendy" exclaims her mother, "You've come back too me."

But Wendy has no interest in such happiness and joy, and she shakes off such gestures and moves forwards, looking out of the window. The wind whips her clothes as she searches desperately for that golden spark, for a sign that Peter has not abandoned her. The sky is full of stars, more stars than she's ever seen before, disguising Peters trail with their starlight. So now she knows what he was arranging with them.

She turns back towards her happy, expectant family who beam at her. The prospect of normal family life, of love and of growing up to be a grand old lady married to a very rich old man. She can see her future mapped out in those smiles, finishing school, marriage and computable living and then she glances back towards the wild outdoors.

"I'm sorry," She whispers and then thinks the happy thoughts that she hopes will lead her back to Peter.

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Sorry if that was a bit melodramatic, and a bit longer than my normal chapters but I wanted to get it all. Chapter 6, Darling Love, will be up tomorrow. I'm about 800 words into it so far and reckon I've got 500 to go. Provided alchol dosn't intervine it will be up and ready.

Again, thanks for all the dedicated reviews, and its nice to hear from you again Wharfy (Where are you now, I know you where at UCL but I guess you've finished that now, unless your course is about 6 years long.)

Love,

BrooklynRed x


	6. A fall from Grace

Nice to hear from all you guys again, reviews really do help and ask those who are reading and not reviewing to please do so (Though, I love you for reading anyways.)

Sorry if this chapters a bit short, and TBH I'm not totally satisfied with the end of it. I had to leave it for my dinner and when I returned, after a couple of alcholic beverages, inspiration seemed to have left me. also this chapter does contain some violence, so if you don't like that stuff dn't read. It's not that graphic though.

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Peter flew far and fast, heading towards the blinding starlight that masked his trail. He was feeling happy, jubilant even. A pox on growing up! He would remain young and free forever, free of all those uncomfortable feelings that had dogged him over the past hours. He didn't need them. All he needed was fun. He would forget about her soon enough.

He would go back to being the life he had before, and he would forget about the Wendy bird. He would battle the pirates again, return to his life with the lost boys. They hadn't fought the Indians for a while, hostilities would have to be renewed and then they would go treasure hunting-a real adventure with the Witches in the east. Perhaps they could raid the fairy grove and steal their honey, which made a marvellous snack for all and made even Slightly capable of imagination.

With all these ideas and joys running through his body and mind he turned to take one last look at London. He would need new lost boys and somewhere there would be a open window from which he could snatch his prey. Somehow, inexplicably, he found his gaze being drawn to the bell tower and number 14. He could almost imagine Wendy sitting there, crying at his leaving of her, and then the lightning strike hit him. Wendy!

He began to fall, slowly at first and then quicker as an overwhelming sense of desperation and despair coursed through his body, all thoughts of adventure struck from his mind. Wendy! His Wendy, all alone and unhappy. The prospect of never seeing her again, of seeing her grow up in the arms of some other man, of seeing her married and happy without him.

Happy thoughts! Happy thoughts! Happy thoughts!

He halted his decent at house level, above the cobbled square outside Saint Pauls cathedral. Desperately he searched for some the happiness of moments before, the happiness of the adventure and of the fight. He couldn't find it and fell again, striking the cobbles of the square with a great thump.

It hurt. It had never hurt before, no properly, and he could feel his ribs splinter with the impact. A pair of passersby rushed over, "are you okay, my dear boy" contended the gentleman.

"Wendy!" Peter yelled at him, pushing himself to his feet with his one good arm. "Wendy Darling!" The gentleman looked astonished and then stepped back as Peter staggered past him, heading towards the river.

"My dear boy," the Gentleman said, "You should really get yourself to a hospital. Shouldn't he Mary,"

"Indeed Vernon." His wife affirmed.

"I'll call a cab." He strode after Peter, "Now, if you'll just wait a second." But Peter was ignoring him and broke into a run, leaving the Samaritans behind him to discuss the event. He plunged through back streets, heading over London bridge and checking every church he saw for Number 14.

Finally he found it. The leering bell tower. The open window. The golden writing on a black door that read 14. He hammered on the door, yelling in haste. "Wendy! Wendy! Wendy!" inconsiderate of the way he was disturbing the Darlings neighbours.

Finally it swung open and he found himself confronted by a tall man. He was dressed all in a nightgown and had tears in his eyes, eyes that betrayed a broken kindness and empathy. But those eyes lit with anger when he saw the boy who attempted to stumble past him.

"You! He yelled and grabbed Peter roughly, ignoring the boys shout of pain at the contact with his ribs. "You!"

"Wendy!" Peter responded, trying to break out of the man's grip and push past towards the staircase.

"She's gone!" Darling yelled, and threw a punch that knocked Peter to the floor. "She's gone again and it's all your fault!"

"Gone?" Peter said, crawling backwards, away from the advancing Darling, "Gone?"

"Yes." Darling said as he aimed a brutal kick at Peters injured ribs, "Gone again. And it's all because of you." He aimed another kick and Peter curled up on the path, desperately trying to protect his injury.

By now the commotion had drawn the rest of the household to the door and they were standing at the door watching the undignified sight of the angry Darling standing over a foetus like Peter. Mrs Darling rushed forward, and grabbed her husband's shoulder, screaming at him to relent, too stop the sudden anger that had rushed over him.

He turned to her and slowly the fire died at the sight of the kiss on her lips. He stammered and excuse and then stopped, aware that she understood his rage. Peters sobs echoed over the silence that lay over the whole street, the tranquillity that had suddenly fallen like a heavy fog.

"Quick now," Mrs Darling said, "We should get him inside." She walked over and knelt by the boy's side, cradling him in her arms. It was his first true motherly hug since he was six weeks old, and he lapped it up like a puppy laps up milk. She looked toward Eliza and commanded her to get a doctor as she slowly helped the boy to his feet and towards the house.

They passed Mr Darling, who slowly began his trudge back to the kennel. Tonight Peter would sleep in a bed for the first time since he was a baby, while Wendy searched the skies frantically for a way back to Neverland.

* * *

Anyways. There we go, Peter appears to have finally found a family of sorts and who knows what'll happen to Wendy... (well...I do...)

Don't know when the next update will be-hopefully tomorrow but it might be 2 days or so, I don't think the next 2 chapters will be that substancial, probably about 800-1000 words each, just to clear up a few issues and then a major chapter after that. Overall I think the story has about 10 chapters to go, at most.

Love

BrooklynRed x


	7. Searching amid cornfields

Sorry for the slow update guys, sadly my uni connection went down. Still, its back now...

Thanks for all the reviews, absoloutly fantastic.

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Wendy had never flown without Peter before and at first it was a daunting experience. She had no guide now, and the starlight was blinding as she soared higher, always expecting to see Peters beautiful smile or hear his crow. There was nothing. She flew further, quicker than she'd ever done before, ranging ever higher and further away from London until the entire expanse of England lay before her. Her imagination could take her no further.

How had he done it, she wondered, how had Peter managed to take them through the fog to Neverland? Where was the fog? Where was that mystical route and why couldn't she go any further than this? She was finally realising the true extent of how he abandoned her, there was no way to Neverland without him, without that fantastic imagination.

Still, she pressed onwards, trying to force herself higher; towards the stars that had obeyed Peters every word. A lack of air defeated her. Then she drove herself eastwards in an attempt to gain such speed as to puncture the reality that lay between Neverland and the world. Again she failed, and now she could see the great curve of the sun beginning to rise above the earth's rim. No longer was it just a cheery star, but instead a great fiery ball that threatened to roast her skin.

Disheartened she drifted downwards, heading back towards the north of England. It was summer, she realised, and the corn meadows where a psychedelic gold. She settled in one of them and amid the long, bristled stalks fell into a near instantaneous sleep brought on by the rigours of the day before.

When she woke the sun was setting over the golden meadow. How many hours she had lain there she did not know, but she was beginning to feel hungry. She tried imagining herself some food and when that failed she set off into the air once more, eager to find a nearby village where she could steal some food.

It must have been some sight when she dropped into the centre of Kettlewell, a small girl dressed in a ripped, bloodstained dress. She was utterly famished by now, and on the edge of despair about the likelihood of her finding Peter. Thus she headed straight for the local bakery and gorged herself of hard bread and buns after entering through the top window.

And then she was off, back into the skies in an attempt to find her Peter once more. She tried various methods, almost methodically going through her ideas one by one. At times she would merely fly around crying his name in a vain hope he would be nearby to hear it, at other times she would attempt to imagine herself into Neverland or shout wordlessly at the stars for some support.

This continued for several days, sleeping in fields during the day and attempting to find Peter at night. Finally however, she had to admit defeat and slowly made her way back to London, her spirit crushed. She had no hopes now, no dreams except for a vague spark that one day Peter would come back for her but she knew in her heart that he wouldn't. Peter had probably already forgotten her, his memories stolen away in a burst of adventure and violence.

She sat on the bell tower opposite Number 14, looking down at the terrace with sadness in her eyes, By returning there she knew she was sacrificing all her freedom, every chance she had at eternal youth. A return to pretty dresses and petticoats, but she had no choice. Where else could she go?

Slowly she floated down towards the open window, aware of Nanas barking and running footsteps. She had a moment of freedom left before it would be snatched away from her and she wanted to enjoy it, before re-entering the comfort of society. With that moment gone she stepped forward and ducked slightly to enter the room, her white nightgown fluttering about her in the breeze.

It was so odd to be back, to be standing amid her room again. It all seemed so small and dull now, as compared to the fantastic comforts of her Wendy House back in Neverland. The dolls now seemed so much less real than they had done before, merely lifeless china figurines. The real world seemed dark and dull in comparison to the beauty of Neverland and she didn't wonder for a moment why Peter had made his choice.

The door burst and the Darlings, accompanied by Nana, burst into the room. They showered Wendy with kisses and love, while Mrs Darling slowly closed the window behind her, before leading her into the dining room. There they discussed various issues, why she wouldn't have to go too finishing school if she didn't want to, that she could marry who she liked, that they would do everything they could do to make her home as perfect and as wonderful as possible.  
And slowly, little by little, the magic around Wendy faded away, little points of fairy dust slowly dripping one by one into the carpet. She didn't notice it at the time, but the adults did and the nodded at each other and continued their talk.

Finally, when Wendy's imagination was finally spent and she was almost collapsing into her food they decided to bring in their main surprise. It was almost morning outside, with the chirping of the birds mingling with the sounds of iron-rimmed wheels banging over the cobbles. In the kitchen the serving girl was preparing breakfast in her normal, unimaginative way and they could feel the veins of the city slowly beginning to throb once more. Now, if ever was the time to show Wendy.

"Wendy, dear," said her mother, "There's something that we need to show you." They led her upstairs, towards the pinnacle of the house, to a small attic room which had always been full of confusion. Originally it had been intended as a bedroom for John, but when that idea had fallen into disuse it had simply become a dumping ground for the family's rubbish.

When they opened the door she found that the room had been whitewashed, and within it a small brass bed had been placed. A small lump was curled on it, covers drawn tight up to his impossible neck. His hair was light, and when he turned over, still deep in sleep, Wendy gave a small gasp. It was Peter.

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And there we go, another short one I'm afraid but hopefully chapter 9 will be a bit longer. the good news is that Chapter 8 is already written (growing up) and will up tomorrow. Hope you all enjoyed this one and will keep reading. I'm not certain that the quality of english in these last two chapters was quite as good as in the previous ones (it just didn't flow naturally) but that appears to have been rectified in the next two.

Thanks,

BrooklynRed x


	8. A creature of the system

Bit of a filler chapter here guys, but I hope you'll enjoy it.

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I would like to tell you that Peter and Wendy's relationship grew from there and blossomed into a long lasting romance, to be placed among those of Romeo and Juliet and Helen and Paris. Sadly I cannot. Perhaps it was that the pressures of society where too great, or maybe they were just too different in character and maturity. Time passed and though they did become closer but as a brother and sister are; rather than as lovers. John and Michael still didn't return.

The Darlings explained Peters sudden appearance away by saying that he was a cousin from the Raj who's parents had suddenly died. It was easy enough to get such excuses accepted in those times, and the presence of India in Peter's life story also explained the barbaric nature of his actions at times. Time civilised him, and slowly he became part of the society that he had once hated so much.

Eton. Oxford. Those where the marks of a man of society and one by one Peter became a part of each institution and became part of society itself. He was, it turned out, a smart boy and the scholarships offered was a great help to a hard pressed Darling family, pushed by the demands of both children to be educated to the best of their abilities.

Of course, the sudden disappearance of their other children was noted, but never in polite society. Whispers abounded behind closed doors of their deaths or, for the more fanciful, how they'd been sold into slavery but these whispers where never transformed into full blown gossip. Michael and Johns disappearance was just accepted and then forgotten as people began to take note of the achievements of their living children which were equally remarkable.

It was impressive that Peter possessed the intellect to make it into Eton on a scholarship, but even more so that he came through the process with flying colours and a honoured Eton tie round his neck. His progression to Hartford College, Oxford was equally unexpected and equally successful. Years of fighting had honed his reactions and he proved to be as talented on the sports field as well as academically. He captains the university to success on the cricket field and was capped young, playing alongside Hobbs and Fry.

Wendy, meanwhile, was carving an altogether more radical career. She refused to attend the privileged ladies colleges and finishing schools and instead lived at home studying in her own time, writing a series of children's books and radical pamphlets which gained her notoriety amongst the chattering classes.

So the years flowed and the Darling family slowly forgot about its adventures in Neverland. Darker thoughts filled their heads, worry about the coming calamity from the East. It was about this time, with Peter at Oxford and Wendy in the Peaks that the first rumours of something new caught Mrs Darlings ears. They were rumours of a boy, young still, who dressed in a top hat and who took children's dreams to Neverland.

Each Childs depiction of this boy and this land was different, of course. Some had flamingos flying over a lagoon, others had lagoons flying over flamingos, but all shared one common element; the flying boy and his top hat. He shared one common name as well; Pan.

At first Mrs Darling tried to ignore such rumours. They must merely be echoes of Peter she reasoned, or maybe some other boy had taken up the baton. Either way it was nothing to trouble Peter and Wendy about, for it would only bring back long-hidden memories and cause trouble. But then the stories began, stories of a boy visiting houses in London with open windows asking the children inside for Peter and Wendy. After several stories of this nature reached Mrs Darlings ears she decided to take action and wrote a letter to Wendy.

She agreed to return home at once and took up her old residence in the room with the permanently open window, living in hope that perhaps Neverland would be open to her once more. She remembered what Peter had said that final night before he had left; the last night he had been Pan and she wondered for the first time in years about the fate of Neverland.

Neverland needs a Pan. It needs a king, someone to command it and control it, to decide on the adventures and lead the lost souls of dying children to heaven. And if it does not have a Pan then it may well create one, finding a suitable soul and dragging it away from the real world. Peter had been unique in that he had chosen Neverland, rather than Neverland had chosen him, but he was not the first or the last. He was merely the beginning of another chapter in eternity.

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Sorry for it being so short, and it may take a while tog et the next one up. My internet now isn;t available in the evenings, which is when i ususally write and essay deadlines are marching

Thanks,

BrooklynRed x


	9. The King is dead, long live the king

Thanks to all those who reviewed, keep it going guys. Fantastic to know your reading.

Dorryen, who knows. One of the reasons I love Peter Pan fan fic is that you can literally do anything with it-and I wouldn't count on Peter/Wendy not managing to get back together by the end.

* * *

The pirate ship was not a pleasant place at the best of times, but even less so when you're a captive aboard it. It stinks, to put it frankly, of rotting timber and curdling blood while the damp infests every plank and timber making you permanently wet.

This is particularly true of the bilges, were the Lost Boys where being kept at Hooks pleasure. It had been four days now since Wendy and Peter had disappeared and, aside from a few offers of food, Hook had steadily ignored them. He had kept them below decks, tied to one another to prevent any chance of escape and simply left them there to rot, or so it seemed.

In truth Hook was confused and dazed. His ultimate victory over Pan seemed to be complete and yet Neverland still wouldn't let him move his damned ship. More than that the incident in which Wendy had escaped had left him in a state of perpetual worry and fear, raw madness only held back by a wall of manners and form.

He had taken to stalking the ship, lashing out at anyone foolish enough to get in his way. Within the pirate ranks talk of mutiny spread, dissatisfaction with the mad captain slowly growing in the ranks. None of them yet dared to confront Hook, however, there fear of him still outweighing their worries.

It was in this situation that the spirit of Pan slowly infected John, creeping into his bones like dry rot. It spread through his body like a cancer, unnoticed but not unfought. He slowly succumbed to it, lying in the squalor that the bilges had become. It worked slowly, unnoticeable except to those where looking closely at him. His ears lengthened while his skin began to take on a light golden texture as he began to produce his own fairy dust. In the darkness of the ship he glowed gently.

He slowly felt the ropes around his wrists become looser, till he could slip his hands from their bonds and move freely around the deck. There were twelve of them trapped down there and, once he had found his hat, he began to free them one by one undoing their bonds and helping them acclimatise to the darkness. They waited for the next pirate to come down to feed them, ready to pounce like a tiger on its prey.

The duty of feeding the prisoners was not a popular one with the pirates and they delayed doing it for a long period while they waited for their master to give orders. Finally they nominated one of their number to find some hard tack and venture down below the decks, to where the ghastly smell emanated.

It was Long Armed Tim who drew the short straw this time and it was he who was surprised by a dozen stinking boys when he undid the door to the bilges. They stole his sword and then force him at swordpoint to enter the bilges himself, tying him up with the remains of the rope. He would remain there for many days, until finally some pirate who had escaped Hooks wrath would find his starving corpse.

As for the boys they ventured up the decks, overwhelming anyone unfortunate enough too get in there way and stealing whatever weapons they could. The stinking horde finally erupted onto the main deck, led by John himself, just as a trembling Smee began to knock on Hooks door with a list of demands. He was backed by four of the other more senior pirates who were knocked to the floor by the sudden eruption behind them.

John led his recruits high above the ship and they tossed off their stinking clothes to the ship's deck before heading back to the hideout on Neverland itself. John, however, stayed and hovered above the mainmast waiting for Hook to emerge. He leant his head back and crowed loudly, the sound echoing and reverberating through the bones of Neverland.

Hook rushed from his cabin at that sound, knocking a hapless Smee back and he looked upwards. "Pan!" He yelled, drawing his sword. "Pan!"

"Aye, codfish," John replied, "John Pan at your service." He bowed in jest.

Hook smile widened and the clouds that had surrounded his mind slowly vanished. So this was how Neverland worked! He would always have an enemy, always have someone to hate and love in equal measure. He glanced towards the cannon that had lain unused for far too long. "Prepare to fire!" He ordered, and watched as his men busied themselves about his orders.

John waited for a few shots to be fired before leaving with one last crow, back to his hideout on Neverland. He would need a new one of course, but he knew that it was already waiting for him, he had only imagine it and it was there. He grinned at the thought of the new adventures he would have, but first a far more urgent duty must be taken care of; in the skies above Neverland the angels had gathered. He flew high, ready to direct them to their final point of call.

Neverland needs a king and it had found one. As John Pan flew higher, memories of his past life already filtering from his mind to be replaced by new knowledge, it began to awake, the sun rising almost as quickly as his flight. Time would pass and he would reign over Neverland, having untold adventures that would be forgotten almost as quickly as they had been thought of. Yet he would never slacken in his commitment to his other, untold, duties, nor let anyone truly know what it was to be Pan. The king was dead. Long live the king.

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There you go; another short chapter but very important I feel. The fic will get substancally darker from now on and as it appears to be getting away fom me a bit in terms of plot (a few issues come up that I didn't expect in the next chapter) then I feel that it may be longer than the planned 16 chapters. I hope that won't disappoint anyone.

Love,

BrooklynRed x


	10. Angels and deamons

Hey guys, another chapter for you all.

Dorryen, I mean that in Neverland and the Peter Pan universe anythings possible. Oh, and I too like happy endings, and I can gaurentee that there will be one to this story; no matter how dark it gets. Can I just compliment your Peter Pan fan fic as well; absoloutly outstanding (I'd like to see another chapter or so though).

The Doctors Tiger; thanks for all the reviews. I'm not certain quite how it gets transfered; its sort of a natural process I guess, Peter gives up being 'Pan (which I've taken as a title, rather than a surname. Possibly linked to the god/demi-god (depending of what mythology you want yo use) of fun in greek myth. Of course, Pan does have other, darker connotations is really old, pre-homoratic litriture...

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It was eleven o'clock in the evening and all was quiet upon the little street in which number 14 slumbered. Wendy Darling, now in her nineteenth year, laid her head upon her pillow and slipped off into the dreamless sleep of the truly overworked without noticing the cluster of stars around her window. They had been there for night now, and she merely took it as the way things where; which is always a dangerous assumption to make.

Stars are beautiful, but they may not take an active part in anything, they must just look on forever. It is a punishment put on them for something they did so long ago that no star now knows what it was. So the older ones have become glassy-eyed and seldom speak (winking is the star language), but the little ones still wonder.

They are not really friendly to John, who had a mischievous way of stealing up behind them and trying to blow them out; but they are so fond of fun that they were on his side tonight, and anxious for Wendy to fall asleep. So as soon as the door of 27 closed on Mr. and Mrs. Darling there was a commotion in the firmament, and the smallest of all the stars in the Milky Way screamed out:

"Now, John!"

And John Pan leapt from the bell tower and slipped through the open window of Wendy's room. He looked around swiftly, his memory poked for a moment before heading past the sleeping girl and to her door, tiptoeing to make sure he wasn't heard.

He pulled on the door handle. It refused to open, even when he pulled and shook at it as hard as he could. It didn't occur to him to use the silver key that lay on Wendy's dresser. He shook at it some more and finally stood back to resort to a method that had never failed; he shouted.

"Door! Open!" he commanded, and then tried again before launching himself at the door once more, this time drawing his sword and stabbing at the woodwork repeatedly. Finally he collapsed against the woodwork and began to cry.

His sobs woke Wendy, who had managed to sleep through the assault on the door. She sat bolt upright in bed and spoke as though from a script, "Boy," courteous, "why are you crying?" A strange sense of déjà vu gripped her, as though pulling her willingly towards some precipice.

John leapt from the floor and hovered near the window, looking directly at the girl on the bed. Savage though he was, manners forgotten long ago, he could still be courteous and bowed down low to her. She stepped out of the bed and bowed down herself, feeling ten years old once more.

"What's your name?" Asked Peter,

"Wendy Moria Angela Darling," She replied, "I know who you are already, John Pan."

John moved closer now, throwing himself onto the bed and enjoying the bounce in the pillows. "The Wendy Darling?" He asked.

"Yes." She responded, "Do you remember me?" She hoped to lure him away from being Pan and back to the Darlings.

"No." He said it sharply, "Is Peter here? I need to speak to him." He moved towards the door again. "Can you open this?"

Wendy nodded and moved towards the door, pulling the key from its resting place on top of the dresser. She placed it in the lock and opened the door, letting the boy out before her. She marvelled at how small he looked now, the top hat perched on his head like a hen. In her dreams he had always been this huge figure, big and strong as only a boy can be to a ten year old girl. Now he was simply a child; no more, no less.

"Which ones Peters room?" He demanded, marching towards the door which Wendy indicated.

"But," Wendy said softly, "I should warn you. He's not here." The boy turned towards her again,

"Where is he then?"

"He's gone..." Wendy paused now, fear and hurtful memories etching themselves on her face, though John did not notice, "...away." She said finally.

"Where?"

Wendy glared at John, how couldn't he know the terrible waste that was going on in France right now? Couldn't he hear the guns on the nights wind, didn't he see the light of thousand burning bodies when flying back to reality? Besides, she knew from Peter that Pan had over duties. He had never been clear as to what they were but she could guess from rumour and legend; surely John had seen some of the casualties?

"Flanders." Wendy responded.

"Where's that?" John was demanding, seeming almost desperate now.

"I'm not totally sure where exactly he is." Wendy admitted, "Somewhere in France. However I can write a letter to him and get a response within a month, why do you need him?"

At this point, and much to her surprise, John broke down crying. He explained it all to her then, in the top hallway of number 14, how there were just too many dead children now, how he never had any fun anymore because as soon as he returned from one trip thousands more had gathered to be taken away. The lost boys had left because they were scared of the angels who thronged Neverland and even the pirates where thinking about sailing off into the fog.

He needed help and he wanted Peter. Peter was the only person he could remember who had ever done the journey and with his help John could have fun again, just until whatever was causing all the angels to come ended. It would not be for long, he assured Wendy and they agree that he would return in a month, for Peter would hopefully have replied by then with advice.

AS she led John towards her window and freedom Wendy felt the sudden urge to ask a few questions, to reclaim her brother for what he had once been. "John," She asked, "Whatever happened to Michael?"

John shrugged, "whose Michael?"

"Your brother, John."

He looked perplexed "I have a brother?"

"Yes," she said, increasingly infuriated, "He stayed with you when Peter and I left. What happened to him?"

He stared at her, scanning the fog of his memory t try and remember this elusive Michael. "I don't know." He said finally, after he had scrunched his face up with thinking, "Maybe I lost him, or maybe he started to grow up, so I told him to leave. I tell a lot of them to leave; eventually they all try to grow up."

Wendy realised there was no hope of ever trying to get a more coherent answer out of him. Peter always said that he could never remember anything of his life before he was Pan, other than vague recollections of his mother and it seemed to be the same for John. Maybe that was part of being Pan, so consumed by fun and childhood that there was no room for anything but the most primeval feelings.

Finally, however, he managed to surprise her once more. As he was about to exit via the window he turned and placed one skeletal hand on Wendy's arm. "Wendy," He said slowly, "Are you my mother? Only...only... I only can remember you and Peter from, you know, before."

That moment, and the pain in Johns eyes almost brought Wendy to tears. She couldn't lie. "No John," She said, "I'm not your mother."

And with that he was gone.

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There we go. Can I make one of my customary requests for people to read and review? There have to be more than 5 readers out there somewhere (hell, the stats tell me that).

Also, I want to put in a warning about the next chapter. It is going to be exceptionally dark and graphic and if you don't like that stuff don't read it. I'm certain about it yet (I may re-edit it, but I'm scared it'll lose some emotion) and I'll stick a warning before it, but I thought I'd give some warning. It is always darkest before dawn though...

Love,

BrooklynRed x


	11. The Poppies

Right, here we go. First, I'd like to thank you all for the reviews (now over 30, yay!) and the really intellegent and incisive comments your adding.

Secondly, I want to put a warning on this. This is a quite brutal chapter, I haven't spared the detail really and as its set on Flanders Fields you can guess the sort of thing it includes. I'm sure you know what to expect from me in terms of angst as well....

* * *

_On Flanders fields the poppies grow, between the crosses row on row._ The Poppies had always amazed Peter, even more so than the relentless inhuman slaughter going on around him. No matter how beaten and sodden the earth became they were always there, bright red heads standing out against the brown reality around them.

He looked through the periscope once more and watched as one slowly opened before him, flowering between the crock of a dead soldiers twisted shoulder. He wondered who the man was, for a moment; one of ours or one of theirs? It didn't matter really, nor would anyone ever be able to tell. The man's uniform had been blasted away by the explosion that had killed him and he lay bareheaded beneath the turquoise sky.

Back home there would be strawberries and cream he supposed. Fresher's would be strolling round the quads of Oxford in there boaters while he could envisage his mother and Wendy taking a walk round Hyde Park, basking in the glorious sunshine that beat down upon freshly mown grass. Here it just shined on blasted devastation, the corpses of ten thousand men trapped in a thirty meter gap.

He had once thought was glorious, he remembered his battles with Hook and the colour that had accompanied them. Here even the blood was dark and dank, a nasty red colour that quickly mixed with the mud rather than the scarlet of those old days. He looked out again, back towards the enemy line just metres away, separated by barbed wire and bad blood. And the poppies of course, hundreds of them spouting across the battlefield, a vague mockery of the old ways of doing things.

He heard a shout and commotion behind him, and looked as his men began to cluster towards the back trenches. Letters. Every Wednesday the postman would emerge from the back trenches to his unit and would immediately be crowded by the men desperate to hear from home. They would disappear off then, back to bunks and cubby houses to read and sob over the news from home; the marriage of a sister that they would witness or a girlfriend finally running out of patience and breaking off their relationship.

Peter rarely got letters. Who would send them? His mother wrote monthly and letters from his father where even rarer. Wendy meanwhile was a marked woman, a suffragette and known radical, her letters never got through the censor without behind reduced to shreds. He didn't have a girl back home to write to him, while his friends where either dead or serving in the same apart of the line. So Peter didn't rush to the postman but instead moved back to his room, a small bunk in a corrugated cave etched from the mud of field.

He shared with the other officers in the company, currently two lieutenants and a terminally foolish ensign who was currently being shipped back to blighty after having got in the way of a buzz bomb. He lay back on his bed and thought.

He thought about Neverland. He rarely thought about it nowadays, so detached he'd become from the gloriousness of the island but now he turned his thought back towards the place and wondered just what was going on there. Was it all still there, he wondered, or had the new Pan reshaped the five-pointed isle to something more of his liking? He could never remember all of his time there, just the last few days and the shocking pain as Hook killed him. He would never forget that; never forgot what it felt like to die.

There was a knock on the iron door of the bunker, "Enter," Peter barked, sitting a little straighter in the bunk. It was the postman, who reached deep into his kaki bag and withdrew a beautifully white letter. It seemed to light up the room with its cleanliness and emit a soft glow in the darkness.

"Captain Peter Darling?" the postman asked,

"Yes?" Peter responded, stepping up and reaching out towards the letter the postman pulled it back.

"May I see some ID, sir?" Peter reached into his pocket a pulled out his brown service ID, complete with a small photograph on it. The postman studied it and then handed over the letter. "Good day to you, sir," and left.

Peter retreated to his bed and ran his hands over the letter. He marvelled at its cleanliness and purity, watching as his hands left damp brown marks on the perfect surface. Nothing was ever clean here. He watched as little golden flakes dripped from the letter as they were disturbed by hands, he licked his fingers. Fairy dust.

He opened the letter hesitantly, not noticing that he was now floating a good foot off the bed. The magic was returning to him again, and he opened it up with anticipation. Inside the letter glowed with Wendy's beautifully manicured handwriting;

_Dear darling Peter,_

_I am sorry I havn't written for so long, but I have been busy. Besides I doubt the (a dark segment here where the censor had removed Wendy's writing). Things are good back home in ------- and we are all well. Mother and father are doing well, as is Nana, though she is getting a little old now._

_I had a message from John Pan the other day. He needs your help with a little issue back at his home. Apparently there are just too many children for him to take care of, and dear Michael has been unable to help, nor have I. He wondered if you had any advice on the matter, or if anything similar had happened in your time there. Please reply quickly as he is getting quite distressed._

_Love,_

_Wendy._

Peter sat back and thought about Neverland once more. It was true that Pan did have other duties, occasionally time consuming but essentially easy. One was to guide the angels to the edge of the universe and comfort them on their way. It could be harrowing on occasion, he remembered once when an angel had cried for his mother the whole way there, but they were generally plaint and easy to guide.

He never knew what happened to them after that, he had never even wondered just who the angels where, though he could now guess. It had always just been a duty that interrupted the fun for moment, but only for a moment. Could there ever be that many to stop a Pan from enjoying himself?

It was, he supposed possible, especially with this dratted war adding thousands of new angels every day. But the angels where children weren't they? They always had been when he was Pan, children who had been expelled from the world too soon and who needed leading away. If they weren't led away then they would just stay around the material world; ghouls and ghosts.

Just what happened to the adult angels?

This was, Peter grasped the key question. At what age did one become an adult, at what age could one guide himself? He didn't know the answer, nor did he know quite where Pan lead the angels that did come to him. Wendy's deliberately obtuse language hadn't helped him understand the problem; just how many angels was John Pan dealing with? There were just too many questions.

Peter had never really thought about death. It was not in his nature to be troubled about such things and he had always had the assurance that death was just another adventure. Now he felt a shiver run down his spine on considering such questions, a feeling he had never felt before.

Panic enveloped him, choking him like a mask. If Neverland was in trouble then where else could fall? He had always felt that it was eternal and detached from the real world, somewhere he could let his mind escape too, away from the troubles of the world. Had this war, this final disgraceful war, managed to corrupt that as well?

He controlled himself and tried to plan. This wasn't how an officer behaved; he reminded himself let alone a fellow of Balliol College and an Etonian. He had to head home, he had to meet John and solve this problem before it got out of hand. The consequences, he knew, of failing to act would be terrible. Neverland would die, finally the light of imagination would go out, choked by the mechanical slaughter.

It is possible that Peter would have managed to get home and save Neverland, had it not been for the buzz bomb that landed in his trench at that very moment. It had been fired minutes earlier, from a 210mm Howitzer on the German side of the line, just one of hundreds of missiles fired that day.

It smashed into the corrugated iron door of Peter bunker, sending its explosion rippling down the trenches to either side and creating a hundred flying iron fragments into the bunker itself; leaving only angels in its wake. Captain Peter Darling, BA (ox) was dead, his corpse barely recognisable when hauled from the wreckage, shredded as it was by thousands of metal bullets. Just one of thousands of casualties to fall on another bloody day.

_In Flanders fields the poppies grow_  
_Between the crosses, row on row_,  
_That mark our place; and in the sky_  
_The larks, still bravely singing, fly_  
_Scarce heard amid the guns below_.

_We are the dead. Short days ago_  
_We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow_,  
_Loved, and were loved, and now we lie_  
_In Flanders fields_.

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I like the emotional sledgehammer, don't I. Possibly this chapter is overwritten but I wanted to emphasise the tragedy of the second world war. Plus I seem to have an obsession with killing Peter as well. I don't think the chapter was deserving of an M but tell em what you think. Don't dispair though (as if you would) its unlikly tha I'll be able to keep him dead. TBH I didn't even intend to kill him at all, I was thinking of all sorts of ways to get him out of the situation (just flying off for example,) but the keyboard led me towards his death and nothing else I tried I seemed to work.

Please review and tell me what you think,

BrooklynRed x

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	12. The Telegram

Chapter 12 then, and my is this story powering along. Not long to go now...

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Mrs Darlings cry woke Wendy when the telegram came. The sight of the red coated officer with a grave face trotting down the path was enough to elicit the scream and the sobs and in the end it was Wendy who had to answer the frantic knocking. The postman was very respectful as he handed over the note, offering his own condolences before striding down the path.

He delivered two items in the end, the small, yellow, rectangle on the telegraph and another, more bulky package. It read in simple terms the terrible news;

It is with deep regret the Army notifies you that your son,

Captain Peter Darling, lost his life in the line of duty for his country.

Our regrets.

Wendy glanced away immediately, her mind suddenly going numb. She handed it over to her mother, who broke into a renewed round of sobs. How did one respond to this sort of thing, she wondered, did one break out the mourning clothes or just go about one business as normal? It was not like losing John and Michael; they had been slow, far away losses which had numbed with time. This was immediate and strong, spirit crushing in its harshness.

She choked back a sob and then reached towards the second package; a bulky brown package with a stamped address. Not even handwritten; just like the telegram there was no note of personality in it. She opened it up and a letter floated out, which she seized like a lifeline; perhaps the telegram was wrong!

It was a handwritten note, on slightly stained white blotting paper. Unlike most communications from the front it had not been cut apart by the censors scissors, but instead it had been allowed an unrestricted passage from the writer to Wendy.

_16__th__ march, 1915_

_Dear Mrs Darling,_

_It is with great regret that I must inform you of the death of your son, Captain Peter Darling. He was a fine officer and a great example to both his company and his superiors. I feel that it is hard to express the regret I feel for Peters death, I counted him as both a good friend and one of the best captains in the army. It is rare that one has the honour to command a gentlemen of such honour, bravery and intellect and I shall severely miss his cheer presence and control under fire._

_I feel honour bound to describe both his conduct at the front and the manner of his death. It was a little after Noon of the 14__th__ that his section of the tench was struck by a small calibre artillery shell, which scored a direct hit upon Peters bunker. I know it is little comfort to one in mourning but his death would have been instant and painless._

_As an officer Peter was one of the finest I ever knew, and his conduct in the trenches was exemplary. He managed to save his men from death on many occasions, and indeed once saved by own life after our trench was briefly sized by the Hun. It is for this reason that I have recommended that he be buried with full military honours as well as recommending him for a post-humorous Distinguished Service Cross._

_It was said by the men who uncovered Peters body that they saw a golden angel heading skywards as they dug and that seems an appropriate icon for Peters life in the front, as I presume he lived at home as well. I hope this letter finds you in good health and I have enclosed what remains of Peters belongings in the hope that this will provide a slave to the grief._

_If you have any wish to discuss Peter or ever need any aid please contact me,_

_Major Edmund Sharpe_

Wendy placed the letter on the table and slowly reached into the package once more. She felt nothing. Pain and sadness would come later; she was sure, but for now she felt as though she was made of steel, numb to any such pain.

There was very little within the package, just a set of clean clothes and the letter that she had sent to Peter weeks ago. She supposed the rest had been destroyed in the blast, or soiled beyond measure. The letter seemed so unimportant now, a small token of pettiness that hadn't ever reached its intended target.

She looked at it again and noticed the grubby fingerprints that had stained the card, she knew those prints. Peter had opened it and read it and suddenly it seemed the most dear and important thing in the world. She didn't question how it had survived the blast, or how it had managed to avoid being muddied and bloodstained, she just turned it over and over in her hands.

She glanced at it again and it seemed to her that there was something written on the blank side of the writing paper. Maybe it was just an optical illusion but she could swear that a message glowed gold against the white of the paper;

'Don't worry'

She looked again and it was gone, just a blank sheet of paper.

The rest of the day was a maze of sobbing and condolences from various family and friends as the news spread round the neighbourhood of the Darling family's loss. Wendy hated the whole experience; the multiple cups of tea, the tears, the way that her mother seemed overcome by the loss. She just wanted to shake people and tell them that Peter wasn't dead, that Peter couldn't be dead.

She felt like people who hadn't known Peter where mourning for him, shedding tears for a man that they had never truly known. It all felt so false, so wrong that they'd act that way for a man that that they didn't know. They where morning, she decided, out of compulsion and protocol, rather than out of any real sadness at Peters loss. They where pretenders she decided and she hated them for it.

Hate was the only emotion she felt now, hate and an overwhelming apathy for life. She had loved Peter and yet she did not feel sad at his death; and for that she hated herself, she felt she should have been feeling so much regret at the death of her friend, her brother, her love... No. Not that. And now those hesitant dreams that came to her in the deep in the night would never be fulfilled.

She laid her head upon her pillow that day in despair and shut the window of the first time. She couldn't sleep, she lay awake and tossed and turned until well into the night, trying to come up with scenarios in which Peter hadn't died, in which he'd survived and the two of them would live happily ever after.

A knock on the window woke her from her semi-slumber, startling into a violent awakening. Was it John? It had not yet been a month but timekeeping in Neverland was notoriously inaccurate. She rose and headed to the window, opening it to let in the cool twilight. There was nothing there. She returned to bed, cursing her imagination.

Another knock.

She opened the window again to see nothing once more, and again cursed herself a second time. Was madness visiting her this night, stealing is like the sandman to poison her dreams? It could not be.

A third knock, and this time Wendy choose to ignore it. She would sleep, she decided, and the dreams of knocking would melt in the morning sun. A third. A fourth, till the knocking became so insistent that it dragged her from her bed and forced her to the window once more, and there, hovering above the window pane was Peter.

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Well, I couldn't kill him off forever could I?

as usual I'm going to ask you to R/R, thanks for all the really good criticisms so far...

BrooklynRed


	13. A golden moment

Okay, next chapter and thanks for the reviews guys. Anyone know what happened to Ilovetoread 38 and Kidsinlotsoftrouble?

Indeed he was Dorryen, but isn't it said that a man is not dead while his name is still spoken (or until the fairy juice runs out)

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Peter hovered outside Wendy's window like a spectre, a barley real reminder of his vitality and life. He glowed gold; specks of fairy dust dripping off him as though someone was constantly pouring the sap of life over him in a desperate attempt to keep him alive. Wendy was struck by a impression that he was almost flickering between present and the past, like a flickering image caught on one of the new motion-picture cameras.

Her first instinct was the slam the window shut, to run away and never enter the room again. Peter was dead. Yes, he'd died before and returned but this was different; Peter wasn't Pan anymore, he didn't have the powers here that he had done in Neverland. He could be no more than a spectre, a memory that had come back to haunt her dreams.

She didn't slam the window though, and instead looked at him once more. His face was pitted with hundreds of tiny scars, and, as he reached out his arm towards her she noted that too had once been torn in the same way. He floated downwards, till he was facing her at the window ledge.

"May I come in Wendy?" he said, his voice lower than before and tinged with sorrow. She nodded breathlessly and stood back to let him drift into the room, seeming propelled by the eddies of wind that marked his passage. She noticed how his shoulder seemed about to collide with the wall and then it passed through it. He didn't notice.

He sat himself down on her bed and smiled at her in a confused way. She sat herself down next to him, noticing how his weight barely troubled the bed strings at all, a slight dint marking where he sat. He smiled at her once more and then began to speak, his voice still deep and tinged with some odd ethereal quality.

"Wendy," He said, "Wendy, I feel," he paused again, as though trying to find the right words for something unutterable. Pain shined in golden eyed. "I feel, odd. Like I'm not really here and yet so much more alive than I've been before."

Wendy nodded and let him continue,"

"I can't really feel anything, and yet I can feel the whole universe in every nerve. I can feel the starlight on my back for the first time in years. I can't even see myself Wendy; I can just see a glow of gold when I hold up my hand to my face."He did this now, putting a pitted hand up against the light. For a moment Wendy thought she could see right through it, and then he solidified again. She stayed quiet and just nodded, understanding that all she could do right now was listen.

Peter had paused for a moment and then started speaking once more, "Wendy, dear, what happened to me? Everything seems fuzzy in my mind, like too much has happened for it to accurately record the events. I can remember leaving Oxford, and then the war breaking out and signing up down at Welling draft agency and then my memories a blank, other than a few isolated incidents." His eyes welled up again, confusion reigning like fire through them.

"What incidents Peter?" Wendy asked, fearful of provoking unhappy memories.

"I can remember my first night in the trenches," He said, "the squalor and the mud and the terrible smell of thousands of decomposing bodies." He saw the shocked look on her face, "It was no place for a lady and I am saddened that I have to tell you about it. Then I remeamber when my best friend, Perkins, copped it. He was a good man, a very solid chap who went to my Oxford college. When we joined up I was appointed captain and he was my Major, but he copped a snipers bullet when he ran our the try and pull back a private of ours who'd lost his leg to a mine. Both of them died. And then," He paused now, the strain of recollection causing his forehead to furrow, "and then I remember receiving your letter. It was so different to anything else there, like a shining light on the hill, and then." He paused again. "And then."

"Yes Peter?" Wendy pressed, certain that the answer for his return must lie at the end of the memory.

"And then," Peter stammered, "Nothing but darkness and hellfire till I found myself outside your window. What happened to me Wendy? What made me like this?"

Wendy knew that there nothing now but to approach the truth head on. "Peter," She said slowly, wondering quite how to tell the glowing boy about his passing, "Peter, you where killed in Flanders. A shell, apparently. We heard this morning."

Peter looked at her softly and nodded, smiling softly with a sudden understand. "Oh yes," He said, "I did, didn't I. But then, why am I here?"

"I don't know Peter." She said, smiling at the look of pleasure on his face. He seemed strangely pleased that he was dead, that the confusion and horror was over once more. She could almost imagine him as Kurtz slowly passing away, finally satisfied with life.

"Then," He said, "We'll have to find out. I think that the answers will be in Neverland. That's where this all began, where I died the first time and it's where all the angels must go in the end." He smiled at her and then floated towards the window, Wendy following slowly behind.

He stood in the window frame, his glow outlined against the dark brick of the bell-tower. The golden boy, both more and less than she'd ever imagined. The cheer was back, the cheek and the wit which had deserted him during the long years in Eton and Oxford. He smiled at her and extended a hand.

"Come with me Wendy, let's go to Neverland again, let's see the mermaids once more." He grinned at her, his smile almost forcing her legs to move on their own accord. She clasped his hand and he pulled her onto the ledge, balancing dangerously 3 stories up. "But first," He said, smiling at her.

"But first what Peter?" She asked, breathlessly trying to control her vertigo.

"But first this," and then with a smile he kissed her, a tender clash of teeth and flesh. It was not a great kiss, indeed Peter was now so unreal that Wendy could barely taste his paper-thin lips, but it was still there first since childhood and for that reason it would stick in her mind until she was an old woman.

And then, like a pair of doves on their first flight, they disappeared into the deepening night.

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There we go, and we have some bizarre form of romance. Woo. The next cahpters a bit darker than this, but still we're drawing towards the finalie. Hope your all enjoying it

Please, r/r

BrooklynRed x


	14. The Horror

Apologies for the delay people, and thanks for the reviews once more. We're getting near the climax of the story now (3-4 chapters left) and its all sex, drugs and rock and rool from here. Except for the drugs. And the rock and roll...

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Neverland was dying. Peter and Wendy emerged from the dark of the night to find a grey isle, haunted by grey spirits and surrounded by cloud. There was none of the old life and colour that had once inflected the place; it all seemed to have been sucked out by some malignant spirit. Peter was the only colour on the dire landscape, a magical flash of gold followed by the Wendy-bird, blinding in white.

They took a quick pass before heading to the hideout, the Indian camp smoked silently on its long ridge, its inhabitants cowering inside their wigwams. The surface of the lagoon was scummy, a thin film of oil drifting over its top, strangling all life inside. Only the witches on the north face seemed to be enjoying themselves, cackling over pots of some bubbling green substance.

And everywhere there where the angels. They moped, half dead figures that gasped and groaned among the trees. Some just sat and cried, leaning against a tree stump while others just stood. They were nothing like the golden figures that Peter remembered, their wings where folded and eyes dead. It was difficult not to feel pity for them, Wendy thought as they took another pass, they had been put here by some cruel god and left to rot. Mere children forced to be alone and afraid.

They were looking for John's hideout. It had to be around here somewhere, and finally Peter spotted a nook in one of the trees that looked oddly familiar and they gilded down, the angels scattering as they touched down. He stroked the tree softly and watched as the nook opened wider, allowing them access. The sound of sobs came from within.

The ceiling of the hideout was low, maybe five foot high at most, so Peter had to crawl in order to make any headway towards where the sobs emanated. The slope quickly turned a slide, a reminder of Neverlands more joyous days, and so they slid, Peter lying in the crux of Wendy's legs.

The slide spat them out onto the floor of a large, open room. A large open hearth lay to one side of it, with a set of bunks to the other, containing a set of small figures who each lay in what appeared to be a deep sleep. It was freezing in the hall, with icicles hanging from the roof and quickly Wendy felt the very marrow in her bones beginning to freeze. She busied herself about the fire, attempting to light the damp wood that lay at its base, but with no success. IF they spent too long she would freeze.

Peter felt no cold and so he followed the sound of the sobs to a small separate room that was shielded from the rest of the hall by a carpet of vines. He pressed through and saw a small boy lying foetus shaped on a high bed, shaking with sobs. This, he reasoned, must be John and so he approached slowly, his feet making no sound on the oak floor.

"John," He whispered and watched as the boy slowly turned to him, "John Pan."

He boy looked at him with deep, soulful eyes and reached out for his top hat, before giving up the attempt as though it was too much effort. "They won't move." He said, his voice still unbroken, "I've tried everything. I've tried shouting at them, and hitting them, and stabbing them and they won't move."

Peter was concerned, he had never known such a lack of fight from a Pan "Who won't?"

"The lost boys. They're asleep and they won't wake up." Peter thought of the small mounds that had lain in the beds, covers drawn up high for warmth, and his suspicions where confirmed by a small cry from Wendy. She walked into the room, now visibly shivering, cradling a small boy in her arms. His skin was blue.

"They're dead Peter," She gasped, "All dead. Frozen, poor mites."

John glared at her, seeming not to remember who she was, "No they're not." He said, "They're just sleeping. That's all. They all felt cold and so I told them to go to bed."

Peter glanced back at Wendy, seemingly surprised by this childish petulance, and shook his head. "We have to get out of here," he said, "We'll just freeze if we stay."

Wendy nodded her assent and stepped forward towards John, who responded by pushing himself further into the corner of his bed. His eyes where wide with fear now, haunted and old as though he had seen more horror than anyone could imagine. "We can't go out." He said, his voice shallow, "We can't go out there. The ghosts are out there, and if they get us..." He trailed off into silent horror.

Peter glanced at Wendy and shook his golden locks, "They can't do anything, John." He said, "They're dead, they can't hurt us. They're just angels looking for a home. You know that and I know that."

John shuddered, "You didn't see what they did too Hook." He said, the memory flashing across golden eyes, "He tried to fight them as well, and they got him. The Jolly Roger sank and I couldn't save it." He whimpered, slowly and tried to bury himself under the covers, it sounded as though he was muttering, reality cutting through clouds of denial. It sounded as though he was slowly repeating a few choice phrases to himself; "The horror, the horror..."

Peter looked towards Wendy and shrugged, "We can't leave him here, not like this. He'll starve himself to death." He reached forward and attempted to grab the boy by the armpits, but his hands passed straight through.

John stared and then yelled once more, scrambling out of bed. He ran to the corner furthest from Peter, "Your one of them!" He yelled, "You're not Peter at all!" He forced his way past Wendy and fled, flying away into the crowds. The older pair followed, attempting to keep up with John's hectic flight. They rushed into the open air, scattering the angels as they did so.

But John was gone, a mere golden speck on the horizon, heading deeper into the fog that surrounded Neverland. Peter and Wendy where alone on the dead isle, with no choice but to hope that they could solve Neverlands melancholy without a Pan's help.

They stood together in the darkening forest and watched as the angels gathered around them, their fear seemingly overcome by wonder. There were hundreds of them, illuminated by Peters golden glow, and slowly they closed the circle. Peter glanced around, his face etched with worry. "We should leave Wendy." He said, "You heard what they did to Hook."

Wendy nodded and then looked round at the dead faces. They where, she realised, just people. Children with looks of yearning and hope on their faces, hope at the sight of someone who didn't flee from them, or look to fight them. "Peter." She said, slowly, "has anyone tired talking to them?"

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The next chapter might be a bit longer, I'm afraid, but I hope you enjoyed this one.

R/R

Thanks,

BrookylnRed x


	15. Loving Angels instead

Howdy guys, apologies for how long its been. But anyways, here we go...

Please R/R. Thank you for all the lovely compliemnts and so forth. Sorry for any grammar and spelling errors, but I don't have a beta reader and as a dislexic I do struggle with that side of writing.

* * *

The angels closed in, faces rent with fear and hope. They gathered slowly, hundreds of them pressing together as they moved forward. Wendy and Peter stood still, back to back with each other, Peters back pressing into Wendy's spine. She could feel him trembling, seemingly scared witless of the ghosts. Did he see them as a cruel vision of his own future? Or perhaps something more, a savage reminder of what death truly was, that had managed to suck all the joy out of Pans world.

The angels continued to advance, clustering together, hollow arms sliding through hollow bodies as they closed in on the pair in middle. Wendy slipped her hand into Peters as they drew closer, his ghostly touch providing little reassurance. She could see the expressions on the faces of the dead; a sad remorse covering every face, with no spark in dead eyes.

They where children, everyone a child with dead eyes and dead hands, nude in the grey light that came from Neverlands sun. She observed them as they closed, seeing the folded wings that protruded from ill-adjusted backbones, causing each angel to stoop slightly under the weight of fresh bone.

And then she felt the touch of the dead for the first time and realised the horror that John had cried about. A small ghostly arm swept through her midriff and she felt suddenly plunged into a freezing hellfire, every ounce of hope and sprit swept out of her at once. She felt like collapsing to the floor at the vision that suddenly presented itself too her, crying and begging for forgiveness for every sin that she had ever committed. It was only Peters presence beside her that stopped her from doing so; his fire seeming to glow ever brighter as the dead closed in.

"Peter," She said and turned towards him, "Please, let's go, lets fly away." She felt another touch peice her side, and again the sadness threatened to overwhelm her.

But Peter was standing still, glowing with such ferocity that Wendy struggled to look upon him. "Wendy." He said, "Don't you see? They don't want to hurt us, they just want love." HE held two of the dead in his arms and as Wendy watched they too slowly began to glow and age, wing unfurling as they did so.

Wendy turned back towards the dead and felt another stab through her heart, she looked down and saw the cause, one of the youngest angels was clawing at her, attempting to gain a hug from the girl. His hands just passed through Wendy's midriff and then he attempted again, each attempt slowly sucking out more of Wendy's soul. "Please," She gasped, "I can't give you any more." The boy seemed not to understand and tried once more, the horror forcing Wendy too her knees.

"Please," She said, looking into his eyes, "No more." He backed off slowly, standing a good meter away from her, his eyes on level with hers. He was small, and so sad that Wendy just wanted to bundle him into her arms and hug him tight. But she couldn't and instead she observed him, trying to calm him with quiet words. He was small, maybe 4 or 5 years old with a great scar that ran from his right ear to his chin, making his face seem strangely lopsided.

Wendy stood and looked at the dead who had stopped advancing, now standing in a ring around the pair, about a meter away. The two angels that Peter had revitalised stood with them, their golden glow illuminating the clearing. Behind the ghosts the sun was slowly rising, casting a palled view over the scene, and showing yet more angels slowly floating down from the heavens towards Neverland.

Peter stood tall at the centre of the scene, his golden eyes surveying each of the ghosts in turn. "Look," he said, his voice containing joy and mirth once more, "You cannot come any close, we would love to hug each one of you, like your mothers once did, but I 'm afraid we don't have the power or the wit." He looked out as this message filtered back through the ghosts; watching as it seemed too knock there sprits further. The entire crowd seemed to wilt, hope suddenly vanishing from their eyes.

"However," Peter said, "I think we can help. There is no reason why we can't turn Neverland into a place of joy once more, and there is no reason why we can't free your souls, if that is what you wish." A murmur went through the crowd, carried thinly on the wind as a thousand voices hissed back at him, each as insubstantial as snow.

"_Yes."_

Peter nodded, "Some of you can stay here, if you so wish. Neverland is a good place so long as it has a Pan to defend it. If you wish for something else, something beyond the existence you now find yourself in I can take you to the edge of the universe, and show you what lies beyond."

"_And what then?"_ The host responded,

Peter shook his head, "I don't know. It has never been revealed to me, but I know that it will be an end to your current pain." The host began to murmur once more, a subtle hiss that barly carried on the wind. The angels voices where no more substantial than air, a mere whisper on the wind.

"Peter," Wendy said, turning to the boy, "What are you doing?"

Peter turned to look at her, sorrow glazing his eyes once more. "I have no choice, Wendy" he said, "I am a Pan, and I will always be a Pan. The mantle may pass, but the duty still remains. Why do you think I'm not like them? I have a duty to these children, to take them as far as I can. John can't do it so I must."

"And what then Peter, what then?"

Peter shook his head, "I don't know Wendy. I'm dead. Maybe I'll have to follow them into the abyss, maybe I'll be allowed to return here. I don't know. But I must do my duty, its the only thing left too me now, my love for you and the duty." He gestured towards a small group of children who had sidled away from the main group, "Look after them. Help them blossom, look after them and try to bring the children back to Neverland."

With that he kissed her again, his lips brushing against Wendy's, his arm curling behind her back. It was insubstantial and perfect, and was as quickly over as it had begun. Peter stepped back and smiled, love shining from his battered features. "I'm glad to have met you Wendy Darling." He said.

"And I you," Wendy said to him, her voice quickened and passionate.

"I'll take my love to the end, even if the universe dies around us I'll never forget." Peter stated and then, like the west wind, he took off like a golden arrow. Hundreds of angels followed him, powerful wings pushing them into the sky in a never ending grey stream, leaving Wendy alone with her disciples.

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Sorry for such a short chapter, the next one will also be short followed by a longer finishing chapter (or possibly two). Anyways, hope you enjoyed this one, and as I say thanks for the reviews.

Thanks

BrooklynRed x


	16. Rain and Thunder

Sorry this chapter took so long, easter and essays got in the way. But anyways, here it is. Dorryen, glad you enjoyed the last one, but who knows, Wendy might not have to stay. I'm determined to have a happy ending!

* * *

There were only a few angels left with Wendy in the phantom land that Neverland had become. They were mostly the smaller children, who didn't really understand what had become of them. They just wanted their mothers, and Wendy was the only available surrogate, so they clung to her, watching her every move as she slow attempted to build a house in the clearing.

It was growing dark in Neverland, the pallid sun slowly sinking under the great mountain in its centre. The temperature was dropping, dark clouds billowing in from all directions promising rain and thunder. Wendy knew that she wouldn't be able to survive a night of freezing rain, and so was desperately attempting to rebuild her Wendy house, longing for the warmth and safety that it had once brought. The angels watched on bemused at her increasingly frantic attempts to stack wood on wood in a rough approximation of a hovel.

Then the rain hit, a trickle at first that was accompanied with a slowly rising wind. Thunder rolled across the island and Wendy looked towards, the skies in desperation, and moment now the storm would hit and she'd be swept away in the deluge. She groaned and abandoned her attempts at making any sort of shelter. It was too late for that now, and anyways she didn't have the imagination or the ability to make an effective den. For a moment she thought about heading back below, into Johns hideaway but even as she thought about it a shudder of horror ran through her. She could not face that, she could not face the bodies that lay below.

She tried to fly but found she couldn't, the fairy dust having left with Peter's departure. She was stuck here then, left to die by the one she loved. She didn't blame him, of course not; he was on a far nobler mission which was more important than her own life. She was slowly resigning herself to death in the cold clearing, seeing it as something inevitable and unavoidable.

It was then that she felt the pang of horror run through her. She looked down a smiled softly at one of the angels who clutched at her leg. Oh well, it would be far quicker this way and at least she would die giving comfort too someone. For a moment she wondered how long they'd stay round her body, wishing for warmth that she could no longer give, though she quickly banished the image from her mind.

She fell to her knees as the horror began to black her mind in nothingness, slowly driving her numb with terror. She opened her eyes for what she presumed would be the last time, her tears blurring her vision. The angel was standing ahead of her, gesticulating towards the east. A look of bewilderment covered his soft face, glowing softly in the darkness. She could see the raindrops passing through his tender body, though he did not feel them.

Even in her dying state she could see that he wanted something, that he wanted to lead her somewhere. She nodded as he desperately pointed again and tried to work out what he wanted. What lay in that direction? The lagoon? She thought for a moment and then realised where they wanted to take her; the Indian camp.

She climbed to her feet, tired limbs hauling a weary body upwards. She was soaked to the skin, her white dress pressing against the curves of her body as she staggered towards the tree line. Her feet slipped on mud and she fell again, her body covered in the brown filth. She could have stopped there, given up and laid down to a quick death by drowning or a longer one by freezing but the sight of the ghosts waiting for her, beckoning her on, gave her the strength to force herself to her feet.

The journey around Neverland seemed to take hours of soaking hell, but finally she reached the ridge where the Indian camp lay and threw herself into the nearest tepee. She lay on its dry floor for a moment, resting from her journey and watched as the angels entered through the walls, staring at her as she lay there.

Slowly she began to feel the chill of the night enter her bones and she realised that to lie inactive would lead to her death. Slowly she stirred herself and forced her reluctant limbs to lie. She was tired and the lactic acid in her limbs resisted every move as she busied herself moving wood from one side of the tepee to the centre. Finally, when she had raised a high enough pile, she found two flints on the damp earth and struck them together to fire the wood. This done she sat back and fell into a deep sleep.

When she awoke the fire had long burned down and Neverland was covered in grey light once more. The angels sat on the dry earth floor, watching her every move as she raised herself. The front of her nightgown was sheeted with dried mud, causing it to rub against her skin. She removed it and went outside to wash it, dipping it into the lagoon and rubbing until most of the muck was finally removed, leaving the dress with a thin brown sheen. It was an unattractive look but for the moment she didn't mind.

She busied herself over the next few days, slowly building up her camp and preparing herself for life in Neverland. The island was still dull and lifeless, Wendy being the only life form that had survived the ghost's arrival except for the witches, but she was able to feed herself from the plants and by fishing in the sea.

She slowly began to get to know her disciples, her lost boys and girls who had chosen to stay in Neverland rather than fly off with Peter. There were seven in total, five boys and two girls, each of whom had the same ghostly voices and the same everlasting look of sadness. They were young, none of them over eight or nine and she suspected that was why they'd chosen to stay with her. They wanted a mother figure and she was the nearest available women. She could remember Peters obsession with mothers when they were younger, his yearning for that sense of control, though he would never had admitted it. These children, torn from their families bosom, had similar needs and where not yet prepared to leave.

They had each been killed, that was clear. She supposed it was the war, indiscriminate shells falling on quiet French villages or on Turkish hamlets. A world war, where no town or village was left unaffected by the call-ups and the killing. The most distressing one was her youngest, a small Indian lad who had been split from head to toe by ancient round shot, fired by one of the old 74's that the Germans had reactivated to attack east India. A scar ran from his neck to his crotch, showing exactly where the metal had torn his body away. The first time she'd looked upon it she'd almost been sick, tears running down her face in sympathy for the pain he must have gone through. Oddly it didn't seem to trouble him at all, he played in the weak sun like the others, seemingly without a care.

'Just like Peter did' she thought aloud and busied herself with her chores. Weeks had passed since Peter had departed and slowly she established a routine, in the morning she would fish for there food and in the afternoon go berry picking before the night and the inevitable storm set in. Neverland was still living, just about, with enough light and water to sustain its flora and wildlife though she had not yet seen any of the mermaids or the Indians.

The rest of the time she watched the children play and tried to develop them, giving them her warmth when she felt strong enough to endure the horror and attempting to teach them the very basics of civilisation; how to catch a fish, for example, or their letters. It was fruitless, of course, for they did not care for the simple tuition she provided and the occasional efforts to help her out ended in tears when a ghostly hand passed through the salmon they were attempting to tickle. Still, she felt that some progress was being made, that slowly she could see a golden glow returning to the children.

She began to get too know them better, holding small conversations and observing there traits. One, a boy, was quiet and timid so she named him Slightly, while another was slightly tubby so he was called Chubs. She acted with the quiet, kindly bullying of the upper-classes, giving them each typical public school nicknames and character traits, conforming each to stereotypes in her mind. She had never had much to do with children back in reality, and thus such ideas made it easier for her to cope.

Time meandered on, with each day blending into the last and slowly Wendy gave up hope on Peter returning. Neverland was still in life-support mode, each day following the last in a never ending sequence of sunrises, sun and thunder. Wendy had begun to crave furniture, using primitive stone tools to make the wigwam more homely. There was still no sign of Peter, though the children where now beginning to glow with such a luminescence that she had too insist they stayed outside during the night so she could sleep.

Finally a glow appeared in the sky, a golden comet that appeared to move closer with each coming day. She had struggled to spot it at first, waking early to peer at the skies and yet slowly its light grew until it even pieced the dark thunder clouds which gathered every night. She hoped, prayed, that it was Peter and that he had finally returned from his journey, noting that no more angels had arrived since he left, but a sense of trepidation also dripped her as she strained her eyes at the nights sky, knowing that the comet not only marked a new beginning, but also an end.

* * *

I struggled to write this one; not much really happens in it after all, but it was needed to keep the stories structure right. I hope you enjoyed it everyway and I still have one or two twists left, so hopefully you'll enjoy that.

Read and review,

Love,

brooklynRed


	17. This is the end, my beautiful freind

Peter's journey to the universes edge had taken longer than he expected, as had his stay there. He had waited until every last angel had passed through and watched the expression on their faces as they finally realised what truly came after death. He would never forget those expressions, the sheer emotion which impressed itself on the golden faces.

It seemed slower on the way back, as though he was moving through real distance rather than being transported from one place to another by his imagination. He had closed on Neverland with as much speed as he could muster, desperate to see his Wendy once more and hold her in his arms. He was wracked with fear for her fate, just how had she survived on Neverland? She had been raised in the city and had never had to fend for herself before; how would she clothe and feed herself? He felt a slight tinge of guilt slide down his gullet at the thought of her all alone, without any comfort or hope.

His anxiety sped him on until time itself began to slow around him, the fairy dust leaving a golden trail behind him like a comet. He lit up the nights sky with his speed, tearing through the universal vacuum. Finally it lay before him; Neverland.

It was still dull and grey, dark clouds swathing the land from view. He attempted to slow his approach, fearful that he would slide straight through the land into the fog which law below and onwards towards the real world. Despite this desperate attempt he still tore into the atmosphere and the cloud like lightning, leaving a trail of thunder claps behind him as he circled and slowed.

It was all still here. The mountain still rose up between the clouds and the sea still lapped against its five-pointed shores. He circled slowly, lower and lower, taking in every detail about the island as he approached, the wigwams on their horn, the witches huts in the forests and the drabness that seemed to now infest the island. There was only one light showing, a single solitary wigwam lit by a flickering fire inside.

He landed outside of it and glided through its fur curtain. Wendy was sitting there, her back to him. He stopped for a moment and took the scene, determined to commit every detail to his memory. The folds of her nightgown as it lay loosely on her back. The smell of roasting fish on the fire and the way her hair dripped down her back, longer and more untamed than he had ever seen it before.

He leant himself against the wigwams walls and smiled, preparing a suitable introduction in his head. "You know," He said, slowly, "You should never light a fire in a wigwam. A stray spark might burn the place down."

He was unprepared for what came next; a spontaneous outpouring of joy from Wendy as she shrieked and threw herself at him like a wild woman, gathering him up in her arms and planting a kiss on his paper thin lips. He responded in kind, letting her take control as she attempted to make sure that it really was Peter and not some cruel illusion.

It was later, much later, when they emerged from the wigwam into the pallid glow of the sunrise. They walked a little way from the Indians campsite to a small ridge which overlooked the lagoons purple hue. They sat there for a moment, holding hands like a pair of teenage lovers on their first date before Wendy withdrew hers and turned to look at him.

"Peter." She said, cupping his face with her hand, "it really is you." He nodded at this and smiled, brushing her hand away with his own. "And you're solid."

"Yes," He said, the affected etonian accent rising in his voice. "I've chosen to be so at this point. I made a great number of choices, and that was just one of them." The all-encompassing glow had gone from his skin now, though the hundreds of pitted scars remained. He sat there, his military uniform as pristine as it had ever been and smiled at her once more, revealing rows of white teeth.

They kissed once more and then sat to simply enjoy one another's presence. They discussed the small things, the way the fish leapt in the water and how the suns glare turned the lagoons vapours into a purple haze. They watched the children playing amid the water, marvelling at how innocent and carefree they were, "You did a good job." Peter commented and was rewarded by another kiss.

Finally, despite her desperate attempts to avoid it Wendy finally voiced the one topic she feared to ask. "Peter, what happened?"

He turned to face her then, a serious veil descending over his eyes and she feared that she had offended him, that he would fly off an abandon her for vouching such a question. Instead he broke into a smile, "I was wonder when you where going ask that." He said, before the seriousness returned once more.

"I..." she could tell he was picking his words with great care, "When we flew to the edge of the universe I..." He stopped again and laughed, his cheer sparkling through the morning mist "I met a great number of people and asked a great number of questions." He said, "And I got a lot of answers. Some of the answers seemed to make sense to me and others seemed ridiculous so I pursued those which I thought had some potential. Finally I met a very old man, so old, indeed, that he almost seemed to be coming round the other way."

Wendy laughed at this, "And what did you ask this very old man?"

"A great deal of things, and most of them he didn't answer. We just sat and chatted at the edge of the universe, while the angels past through towards the future. I asked him what I should do and he refused to tell me, though he wouldn't let me pass through with the others. I kept trying and he kept saying that it wasn't my time, that I hadn't yet saved Neverland. It was the only straight answer I got.

I asked him what he meant and then he told me. He told me the real purpose of Neverland and how it must always remain alive and vivid. He told me that Neverland always needs a Pan." He turned towards Wendy and smiled smoothly, eliciting a gasp from the girl.

"You don't mean that you have to be Pan again?" She asked, envisioning Peter and her remaining on the island forever, living out their dreams and their hopes and adventures.

He shook his head at this naivety and smiled, "No." He said, "I thought he meant that at first as well but he didn't. I'm too old now, five years ago maybe," he threw a dismissive hand, "but not now. I don't have the imagination any more, Neverland is a place for children and I am no longer a child."

She looked at him anxiously, "then you'll return to London?" She asked, "you'll come and live with me in London?"

Again he shook his great head and remove the peaked cap from his golden curls. "No." He said, "I cannot do that either. I'm dead, Wendy, and dead people don't walk the streets of London. Besides, imagine the scandal if you moved in with your cousin! No, I cannot do that."

"Then what can you do?"

"For every love, Wendy, there must be a hate. For every act of goodness there must be one of cruelty. It's the way the world works. For every Pan, dear Wendy Darling, there must be a Hook."

Wendy shook her head in horror. "No, Peter, you can't do that. You are not Hook Peter, your too kind, too dear and..." she trailed off at the sheer incompatibility of his statement, unable to comprehend how this wonderful man could become something that had always been a force of evil in her mind.

"Wendy, I must, or else I will have to fade out of existence and never see you again. Hook was not always a bad man, Wendy. He was, perhaps, a man of his time but he was always honourable and good in his dealings with us. Even when trying to kill me he would never show poor form, and to his pirates he was very kind. You see, Wendy Darling, to a child all adults aside from his mother and father are the enemy.

You see, my dear Wendy Darling," He clutched her hand here, "to a child all adults aside from his mother are the enemy. They are the ones that educate him, that force him to move from being the bizarre little savage that he always enjoyed being into a civilised man. They are the forces of authority, the ones who aren't fun and who won't join in a child's games. For Neverland to truly recover and to regain its king it needs a devil."

She looked at him with horror again, her elongated fingernails digging into his skin. "No Peter." She said, "you cannot do this. You can't leave me to become...this. There must be another way."

He shook his head once more and placed his other hand on her thigh to calm her, "No, Wendy, there is no other way. I must become this or leave. I've already made my decision, and its better that I, someone who truly understands how this works, be Hook than anyone else. But why should I leave you, Wendy Darling?" At this point he looked deep into her blue eyes with his golden orbs, "Join me. You can be my first mate, we can live together on the Jolly Peter and fight with Pan to our hearts consent. What do you say?"

She considered for a moment, and glanced at his handsome, pitted features once more. An eternity sent with this man, an eternity spent with this strange, impossible man who would become the avatar of the evil which had kept her up for hours when she was a child. She looked into his deep, uncorrupted golden orbs and watched the spark dance there. Would he every change? Would she wake up on day and find that spark gone, replaced by madness and cruelty. She could remember the last time she'd seen Hook, his last visages of honour and form wiped away by madness and anarchy. Could she live with that?

He grinned once more, already knowing what her decision would be. "What do you say?" He asked once more in his etonian drawl and watched her smile widen.

"Aye Aye sir."

But before then there was much to do, they had to wait for a new Pan and prepare some Lost Boys. The Indians would return and the then, only then, would the Jolly Peter set sail. Until then there was much time to be spent together on a wonderious isle that was just beginning wake up again. Wendy could hear the birds beginning to chirp and basked in the golden sunlight of the frsh sun. Those hesitant dreams that had come to her deep into the night would be a reality.

For Pan was dead.

And Hook had risen.

And all was good the world.

_Fin._


	18. Authors Note

I thought I'd just put a quick author's note of the end of this. First off, thanks to all those who reviewed and PM'd me, they really help and in particular Wharfy and Dorryen posted some excellent, incisive stuff. I've also like to thank Ilovetoread38 and TheDoctorsTiger who posted some good reviews and really sped me along. I'll try to respond to all summaries of the story and, hell, even responses to this via PM.

This is the first story I've actually finished, aside from poetry and really short stories. Its not quite as long as possibly the plot demands but I really wanted to keep it tightly plotted and moving quickly instead of falling into my usual long-winded style. In part this was because I wanted to copy JM Barres style of writing which is similarly quickly-written and with some fantastic description. He is, in my opinion, one of the two greatest children's writers along with Phillip Pullman.

I'm not sure what I want to do with my next fic, this one will probably not have sequel. I'm quite interested in writing a more mature exploration of Wendy's sexuality and her relationship with Peter but that's already been done. I also have a Doctor Who fanfic underway which I need to decide wither or not to discontinue. Aside from that there's a few other ideas knocking about; a HDM fic would interest me as there isn't enough innovative stuff from that universe yet, a fic which looks more deeply at Hooks motives and mind (I don't buy the line that he's simply evil. That isn't Barres style and I think he's got a lot of more too him), and I'm also considering a few other ideas.

Anyways, thank you for reading this far. I'm never quite sure if anyone reads the authors note, so thank you kindly for doing so. I hope you all enjoyed the fiction and I'd like to point out that all copyright is owned by Great Olmond Street hospital.

Love

James x


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